“It seems that the more places I see and experience, the bigger I realize the world to be. The more I become aware of, the more I realize how relatively little I know of it, how many places I have yet to get to, how much more there is to learn. Maybe that’s enlightenment enough – to know that there is no final resting place of the mind, no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom, at least for me, means realizing how small and unwise I am, and how far I have yet to go.”
– Anthony Bourdain

*******************************************************************************************************************

Years ago, 2010, Heidi and I were walking along a beach on the island of Kauai, stooped over, looking for shells. And coming the other way was another couple, also stooped over, looking for shells. And when our paths crossed, we of course shared our treasures with each other, ooohed and aaahed at the cowries and cones, and in the conversation that transpired, they shared the best shelling they had ever done was on the island of Vieques. “Vieques???, Where the hell is that?”

We found out it is a little island just off the coast of Puerto Rico…part of what is called the Spanish Virgin Islands consisting of Vieques and little Culebra. Quiet little Caribbean islands, not nearly as visited as their more popular sisters, the American and British Virgin Islands. Sounded like our kind of place…..so we booked a trip. Using points, I found a great flight out of Vancouver B.C. that flew to Dallas and then directly to San Juan, Puerto Rico. We would spend the night and then catch a quick flight over to Vieques the next morning.

And so, off we went, driving to Vancouver, B.C., on a lovely, snowy, white-knuckle journey. It snowed the entire way. We found a hotel that not only gave us a place to sleep but also let us abandon—uh, I mean, park—our car while we were away.

The next morning, we shoveled our way to Vancouver International Airport, ready for our nice, simple, stress-free flight to Dallas. Except—plot twist—it was canceled. Why? Because of snow. In Dallas. Yes, apparently, that’s a thing. Who knew?

After some quality bonding time with the airline staff, we were rerouted on a slightly less direct itinerary: Vancouver → Chicago → Atlanta → San Juan. Not ideal, but hey, it worked. That is, until the snow in Vancouver (seriously, enough already!) delayed our flight to Chicago. Now our layover in O’Hare was going to be tighter than my jeans after Thanksgiving.

On the almost empty plane, the flight attendants took pity on us and let us move up to first class so we could make a quick exit. We landed at O’Hare with 15 minutes to make our connection, which, of course, was on the absolute opposite side of the airport. Because why wouldn’t it be?

With Heidi’s suitcase in one hand and mine in the other, we took off in a dramatic, slow-motion-worthy airport sprint, dodging travelers, weaving through corridors like Olympians—minus the athleticism. Breathless, sweaty, and questioning our life choices, we reached the gate, fully expecting to see closed doors. But for once, luck was on our side—our flight to Atlanta was delayed. For the first time in history, a flight delay felt like a gift from the travel gods.

Then came the flight to Atlanta. Ah, turbulence. Not just any turbulence—this was the kind that makes you rethink every bad decision in your life. The kind where people turn green, rosaries are clutched, babies scream, adults scream, and I suddenly understood the true meaning of fear. Heidi’s nails became permanently embedded in my arm. We tightened our seat belts. We prayed. We seriously wondered if we would survive.

And that was only half the journey.

Now before I go any further, I need to explain something. This trip was Heidi’s first excursion outside of the Continental United States (not counting a couple of trips to Hawaii) This trip was to another country. And although a passport wasn’t needed, it was a big deal for Heidi and she was a little, well more than a little, apprehensive. The delays and the turbulence were not helping. But, believe it or not, this trip gets worse.

Somehow—miraculously—we landed at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. After profusely thanking the pilots (pretty sure one of them got a hug) and dramatically kissing the ground, we stumbled onto our next flight. This one, thank goodness, was blissfully smooth, and just after midnight, we finally touched down in San Juan, Puerto Rico.

The airport? Total ghost town. Not a single soul in sight. Everything was locked up tighter than my grandma’s secret cookie recipe. No food, no people—just us, our luggage, and the eerie hum of fluorescent lights.

We managed to flag down a taxi, but our driver spoke zero English. No problem, though—Heidi broke out her muy limitado Spanish, and between that, hand gestures, and hopeful smiles, we figured he probably knew where we were going.

Then he turned the wrong way down a one-way street.

And THEN he jumped the curb onto the sidewalk to dodge an oncoming car.

At that moment, we had two thoughts:

1. We survived that hellish turbulence just to get kidnapped and left for dead in the backstreets of San Juan.
2. Is this guy even a real taxi driver?!

Heidi shot me a look that screamed: “You said this was going to be SAFE!” I mentally prepared an apology speech… and possibly my last will and testament.

But just as we were about to start mapping out our escape plan, the taxi whipped around a final corner and—BAM—there was our hotel.

Sweet, glorious, non-moving safety.

We paid, muttered a stunned gracias, and bolted inside. Phew.

Early the next morning, we made our way to Isla Grande Airport, a tiny regional airport conveniently located next to the cruise ship terminal—and by “airport,” I mean a place that looked more like a bus station with a runway. We had booked our flight to Vieques on Vieques Air, feeling pretty confident in our choice.

While waiting, we struck up a conversation with some fellow travelers who were also headed to Vieques—except they were flying Cape Air. Casual small talk turned into unintentional terror induction when one of them casually asked, “Oh, you’re not flying Cape Air? You’re on Vieques Air? You know, the airline with planes held together by duct tape?”

Fantastic. Just what Heidi needed to hear. Her eyes widened, her face paled, and I could practically hear her mentally drafting her final goodbyes. Meanwhile, I tried to downplay it, reassuring her that “duct tape is, like, super strong, right?” Spoiler alert: that did not help.

Prior to boarding we had to be weighed. Same with our luggage. Next we were led out to our plane sitting just off the taxiway. and were told where to sit according to our weight….to balance the plane, a Britten-Norman Islander, capacity 9 people. We quickly glanced about to see if there was any visible duct tape. I was seated in the very back, Heidi was closer to the front. Heidi had taken a dose of dramamine in preparation for this flight. The doors closed, the engine started, and 30 minutes later we touched down on the tiny little runway on the island of Vieques. WE MADE IT!!!!

The host at the hotel we were staying at was there to pick us up. He asked if we needed to go to the car rental company and we reminded him that he guaranteed to have a car waiting for us. He forgot. Now all the car rental agencies were sold out. But as soon as we arrived at the hotel, he got on the phone and called a buddy of his who agreed to rent us his car for our stay!!!!

Our hotel, Evamer Studios and Bungalows, was a small, 10 room boutique-like hotel right on the water on the north side of the island. It sits on a bluff and you have amazing views of the water all the way over to Culebra. We were booked into a small, one room “bungalow” with a small refrig and microwave. Half-way through our stay, the upstairs “suite” came open and we switched rooms. We now had a balcony to sit on and a room double the size. It was perfect, except for the one day it rained, buckets and buckets of rain driven sideways by the wind pelted the ocean side windows and door. In poured buckets and and buckets of water through the shutters and under the door. We used every available towel we had to staunch the flow. It was a long night, but in the morning, the sun came out and all was well.

Before we go on, a little bit about this island. It isn’t very large, about 50 square miles in size (about the same size as Martha’s Vineyard and just a bit smaller than San Juan Island) It is about 20 miles long and 4.5 miles wide at it’s widest spot. People have been living here since 2500 BC. It is said Columbus “discovered” the island, and was soon under Spanish control. No settlements were established and essentially the island was a lawless area often inhabited by pirates. In 1811, the island officially came under the control of Puerto Rico and permanent settlements were established. The United States acquired land on Vieques, after the Spanish-American War, when the Treaty of Paris in 1898 ceded Puerto Rico (including Vieques) to the U.S., and subsequently, the Navy purchased large portions of the island during the 1940’s to establish a naval training range, essentially taking over two-thirds of the island for military use. The locals were all pushed to the center of the island, many had to give up their homes to the USA at a “fixed” price…in other words, the land was stolen. For years the entire eastern portion of this gorgeous island was used as a bombing range, live fire exercises, amphibious landings and mock war-games. The area was used not only by the USA, but also all NATO nations. The Western Side held a large over-the-horizon radar station and bunkers for ammunition storage. The US Navy also disposed of hazardous materials, including oils, solvents, lubricants, lead paint, and acid.  In 2003, the USA government finally ceded the eastern portion of the island back to Vieques. It qualified as a superfund area and millions have been spent cleaning up all that the Navy deposited, and ittle by little the island has been cleared of unexploded ordinances. Vieques is once again picture perfect Caribbean island. Beaches are pristine. Horses run wild. Palm trees sway in the wind. The sand is powdery white, the water turquoise blue, and the sky azure!!!!

The day was young and we wanted to get to a beach. So we loaded up the car with beach chairs, umbrellas, a cooler filled with ice and made a bee-line to the closest beach.The beaches on Vieques all have two names. The Navy named all the beaches by color based on the color of flag placed on them for training exercises…thus you have Blue Beach, Green Beach, Red Beach, etc. While the locals still use the color names, the original names of the beaches are coming back into vogue. Blue Beach is La Chiva (female goat). La Chiva is that Caribbean beach you see in advertisements…turquoise water, white powdery sand, palm trees, gentle waves lapping the shore. Jaw-dropping beautiful !!!

We set up our chairs, layed out our towels, and Heidi fell fast asleep complements of the dramamine, not the non-drowsy type. We didn’t notice until later that her snoozing spot was right under a coconut tree heavy with coconuts. Luckily none fell.

For the next ten days we tried out every beach on the island. Our favorite by far though, was La Chiva. We would set our chairs in the water, tiny waves lapping at our feet, a bottle of cold Corona at our side…heaven!!!! The water was crystal clear and I would swim out to the nearby island, Isla Chiva. For fun I would dive down and collect giant conch shells. Fish were everywhere keeping me company. Pretty much all the beaches on Vieques were pristine, sand powdery soft, water turquoise blue and for the most part pretty empty of people.

And while people were missing, horses were everywhere, just running wild all over the island.

And often we would come across a colorful iguana

and once a little gecko hitched a ride on passenger side door.

On the Eastern Side of the island, we visited the mile long Mosquito Pier, built in 1941 by the Navy in an attempt to connect Vieques to Puerto Rico….plan never came to fruition. We explored Green Beach (Punta Arenas; Sandy Point), the abandoned ammunition bunkers, the old sugar mill and the three hundred year old Ceiba Tree. We found the “Stonehenge of Vieques”, a spot on a hill where there is a circle of massive boulders. It was here archaeologists uncovered a 4000 year old skeleton. All we found were massive boulders and a hornets nest.

We spent time in each of the two cities…Isabel Segunda and Esperanza. Isabel Segunda is on the north side of the island and is the larger of the two and the “capital” of the island. It is a charming little town with colorful houses, shops, eateries, gas stations and grocery stores and the Ferry Dock. It is home to the very last Spanish Fort built in the Americas.

Esperanza is on the southern side of the island and is considered the “tourist” town, filled with restaurants and cafes, watersport businesses, and lots of shops. It is located right on the water and the lovely malecon (strip or walkway) is perfect for strolling and watching the sun set.

For food we enjoyed the island bounty and the amazing restaurants in both Isabel Segunda and Esperanza. Our favorite restaurant was El Quenepo, situated on the main road in Esperanza. One evening, sitting at “our” little table closest to the road, we watched a pick-up drive by, honking its horn. In the back were a bunch of young men, one of them holding up high the largest lobster we have ever seen. That was one proud guy!!!!

One thing that Vieques is known for is it’s bioluminescent bay, Bio Bay. This shallow bay is filled with dinoflagellate Pyrodinium bahamense, a phytoplankton which glows blue when agitated. The best times to go are when there is no moon, and our stay was perfect for that. We booked a tour of the bay, loaded into a four-wheel drive bus, and led through deeply rutted, mud filled roads til we came to the bay. Heidi and I shared a kayak and into the bay we paddled. Every time the paddle hit the water, the ripples would light up, an iridescent blue color. Fish swimming below would glow. It was other-worldly. At the time of our tour, you were also allowed to swim about in the middle of the bay. Of course I jumped at the chance. What an experience…every time my arm exited the water, blue drops would cascade from my arms. I left a trail of blue wherever I swam. While I was swimming, Heidi was treading water next to our kayak and felt something brush her leg. Something large. She immediately thought it was me, brushing against her. But when she saw I was still out swimming, she quickly scurried back into the kayak. I think I convinced her it must have just been a fish.

The following year after our trip, a young woman was attached by a 6 foot tiger shark in Bio Bay. It grabbed her leg, pulled her under, then let go, finding her rather unappetizing. She survived but will have a scarred leg the rest of her life. This event caused the industry to rethink the tours and they no longer allow swimming in the bay. Heidi swears now that she had had a brush with death!!!!

Now it was time to return home. We again climbed aboard a Vieques Air plane. Everyone was seated to balance the weight, and then the pilot arrived. We never were able to confirm his age, but we guessed at least over 70. But he seemed to know what he was doing, he started up the engines, carefully taxied the plane into position, and away we sped down the runway and into the air. About 10 minutes into the flight, a light came on his dashboard and a bell began to ring. Now this plane is completely open between the passenger seats and the cockpit…we could see and hear everything. The pilot seemed non-pulsed by the alarm, but we were when he pulled out a small manual and slipped his reading glasses on. Satisfied with what he found, he adjusted a few levers on the dash and the light went off and the ringing stopped. All was well….at least for another 10 minutes or so when everything repeated itself…the light, the alarm, the manual, the glasses, the adjustment….calm again, except in our hearts which were all beating at an accelerated rate. Would he be able to find the airport? Would he remember how to land the plane? But soon the airport was in view and down we swooped into a perfect landing with no further lights or alarms!!!!?”

And now onto Vancouver and then home, hopefully smooth sailing. And it was, until we hailed a cab to the hotel where our car was waiting for us. The cabbie popped the trunk, in went the luggage, and we hopped into the cab, to be met by another Septuagenarian, a crusty one at that. “Where you going?” he growled at us. “To the La Quinta Inn.”

Where the hell is that? We replied, “Just across the bridge?”

Which bridge? Us, “The one straight ahead. We can show you.”

And off we rolled. The second intersection we came to he went right through.

Us, “Did you notice there was a red light?

What?

“A red light…you just went through a red light!!!” He pretended not to hear us.

We were about to tell him to pull over and let us out when Heidi spied the hotel just ahead on the left.

A sigh of relief, safe and sound, in our car ready the long drive home. But what a trip….Heidi survived plane delays, re-routed itineraries, God-awful turbulence, maniac taxi drivers, tiny airplanes flown by old men, a curious shark, and falling asleep under a coconut-laden coconut tree!!!! Heidi is now a “seasoned international” traveler, ready to strike out and explore the world.

And Vieques, we will be sure to visit again!!!!